


Not Jealous

by riseofthefallenone



Series: bb!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's not jealous, Kid Fic, M/M, Swearing, bb!verse, only when he totally is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean isn’t jealous. He’s not jealous of Sam, and he’s <i>definitely</i> not jealous of Bobby. But Cas ignoring him is kind of really pissing him off. Gabriel and Balthazar aren’t helping matters <i>at all</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Jealous

**Author's Note:**

> There's Destiel if you squint at it.
> 
> Written for [askspnbbverse](http://askspnbbverse.tumblr.com)'s bb!verse. I highly suggest browsing her pages first because they are ADORABLE. This can be somewhat read as a standalone, but it will likely make far more sense if you read her things first.

Dean wasn’t jealous.

Yup. Not jealous.

Not even slightly.

Not even when Sam - the friggen sasquatch - lumbered past with Cas’s trench coat trailing down his back and the pint-sized angel perched on his shoulders, one small hand fisted in Sam’s ridiculous hair and the other holding his coat.

Dean was definitely not jealous that Cas would sit on Bobby’s lap and be all helpful and not ridiculously annoying like his brothers. His brothers that, for the life of him, Dean could not get to leave him the hell alone. A chocolate coated raisin bounced off his cheek as the perfect punctuation to his determinedly _not jealous_ thoughts.

It wasn’t like Cas was _his_ angel. The little shit only, y’know, dragged his ass out of hell, rebelled against heaven because of him, fell from grace because of him, had left his goddamn hand-print on his shoulder and always fluttered his ass down from Heaven whenever Dean called. Nope. Cas was most certainly not _his_ angel so Dean was most certainly _not_ jealous. 

Didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed as hell that the little fucker was more or less ignoring his very existence since they got to Bobby’s.  
Another raisin hit him in the temple. 

“God _dammit_ Gabriel!” 

The toddler-sized archangel gave a wild giggle and sprinted off the moment Dean rounded on him, abandoning the pot of chili he’d been stirring. Even if angels didn’t need to eat, the increasingly weary human adults certainly did. 

Really, Dean should’ve been tipped off that something was up the moment he saw the smirk on Balthazar’s face. He and Gabriel were standing shoulder to shoulder at the top of the stairs when Dean thundered out of the kitchen, following after Gabriel. Dean tried to look his most menacing – he knew for a _fact_ that he could look pretty _damn_ scary – and put a foot on the bottom step. 

“Is it impossible for you two little shits to leave me alone for _five friggen minutes?_ ”

They shared a look and their smirks evolved into full blown grins. Dean’s heart dropped from his chest to somewhere in the vicinity of his kidneys because that right there? That spelled out whole galaxies of trouble. Grinning children – especially grinning _angel_ children – was never a good thing. His suspicions were confirmed when Gabriel held out a familiar shiny metal object and flicked the lid open. Dean’s hand immediately went to the pocket of his jeans and sure as shit, his lighter wasn’t there. As if Gabriel playing with fire wasn’t horrifying enough, Balthazar held up an equally familiar item. 

“Don’t you friggen _dare!_ ” Dean hissed, eyes narrowing at one of his copies of Busty Asian Beauties, “That’s a _collector’s edition!_ ”

It shouldn’t even have been possible, but the little fuckers actually grinned _wider_ as Gabriel dragged his thumb over the flint wheel and Dean could hear the scraping-click-pop of the flame from the bottom of the stairs. Dean took the steps three at a time but still wasn’t fast enough to catch the brats before they were around the corner and out of sight. Goddamn the little shits could move when they wanted to. Vaguely he registered Sam’s voice calling from the study. 

“Dean! Remember they’re just kids – _don’t hurt them!_ ”

He might have responded with something snarky about angels being dicks no matter the age, but it was hard to speak with a mouthful of carpet. His knees and hands, Christ even his fucking _face_ stung and burned from his rough dive. Twisting on his hip, Dean glared at the wire strung across the hallway. 

“A tripwire… You little shits set up a friggen _tripwire!?_ ” 

The high-pitch giggling at the end of the hall cut his attention back to the brats. No. Brat. Singular. Just Gabriel. Where the fuck did Balthazar get to? Yeah, like _that_ question needed much thought to answer.

“Bobby!” Dean shouted, pushing himself to his feet and yelling over his shoulder without taking his eyes from the still laughing angel, “Balthazar’s going for the booze!”

A cry of disappointment and frustration echoed from the kitchen and Dean allowed a satisfied smirk to settle on his lips, knowing full well at least one part of their plan had been foiled as the rumble of Bobby’s gruff voice blanketed the stream of complaints. God _damn!_ How could adults with British accents sound sexy as hell, but give it to a kid and all it did was make them sound whiny as fuck?

The victims of the resulting scuffle with Gabriel included a carefully organized stack of books and a filing box that ended up with its contents scattered down the stairs. Contents that Dean tried very hard not to step on as he returned to the main floor with a struggling archangel under his arm, tan wings pinned by the ‘v’ of his armpit. 

Sam, with Cas and coat still in place, had taken up the post in front of the stove and was idly stirring the chili. Cas had his cheek resting against the top of Sam’s head. His stupid baby-blues were wide and round and watching Dean. The chubby face and shock of black wild-kid hair completely negated the usual intensity of Cas’s stares. Dean couldn’t keep the scowl from his face if he tried and he turned away, stomping into the study. 

Bobby was back behind his desk, pouring over some ancient tomb about witches – witches and their goddamn black magic voodoo _bullshit_ – and was almost but not quite completely ignoring the blonde angel on the sofa. 

“Don’t care how hard you stare at me, idjit, yer gonna be in a timeout til I say you can go.”

Balthazar hunched further into the couch and turned his glare to the room’s latest additions. Dean glared right back and, with all the ceremonious grace of a dump truck, dropped Gabriel right next to him. It was with no small amount of glee that Dean cataloged the undignified noise the archangel made when he landed on his face. 

There was much flailing of limbs and wings before Gabriel managed to right himself and turn furious eyes to him, “You’re gonna regret that, Winchester.”

It’s really hard to be terrified of a trickster – even if it’s the same trickster who killed you hundreds of times in increasingly imaginative ways – when he barely reaches your hip. Dean placed one hand on the back of the couch and leaned down, putting himself so far into Gabriel’s personal space that the little shit could probably count his freckles.

“Anymore of your bullshit and I’m going to duct-tape your wings to the ceiling. You’re both –” He let his eyes slide to Balthazar, satisfied with the barely suppressed flinch the other angel gave, “ – in indefinite time out until Bobby decides otherwise.”

“Dean-“ Sam’s voice was a lot closer than he expected and Dean didn’t have to turn around to know that the sasquatch was standing in the doorway with one of his patented bitchfaces on, “- they’re just kids. Cut them a little slack, hm?”

“ _‘A little slack’_?” Dean straightened and turned. If you listened really close, you might hear his patience snapping like an over stretched rubber-band, “Yeah, okay Sammy. Let’s see you deal with these two all day. They’ve been… I don’t even have _words_ for how annoyed I am with them. You get Cas all clingy because you’re tall enough to keep him safe from them, but me? No. No, _I_ have to handle their insanity like I have for the last four days and I need a friggen _break_. A break and a six-pack that Balthazar won’t try to steal.”

“I have more sophisticated taste than that, thank you.” Balthazar snorted, cutting off his muttering at Dean’s particularly venomous glare.

“Oh boohoo. Suck it up, princess.” Bobby slammed his book shut, “Yer not the only one dealing with ‘em so shut yer whining, go have some dinner and calm the hell down.” He pointed to the two angels sequestered on the couch, “You two don’t move til we’re done eating. After that it’s bath time, a bit of TV and bed. Ya got me?”

Both nodded mutely and Dean was mildly satisfied that they both looked somewhat mollified – despite he too being told off by Bobby. Pointedly not looking at Sam or Cas, Dean brushed past them and made sure to make as much noise as physically possible while getting out bowls for the chili. He kept that up until Bobby shouted at him again – something about not needing another brat in the house. So Dean took his chili and a beer, warm from being kept on the top shelf above the dishes – because Balthazar was full of shit about his _‘sophisticated taste’_ – and made sure to slam the screen door behind him as he took his supper to the porch. 

No, he wasn’t sulking. Just like he wasn’t jealous. And just because he chugged his beer a little faster when he heard Sam and Bobby talking with Cas through the door (and seriously, that kid voice was so friggen _wrong_ when he knew it was coming from _Cas_ ) didn’t mean a damn thing.

The chili was too hot and he burned his tongue. That was the whipped cream on the epically shitastic day he was having. The cherry on top was _bath time_. 

Fuck, he _hated_ bath time. Loathed it, even. It was right up there in the top ten on his list of ‘Shit That Really Pisses Dean Off’ (quite the feat considering the absolute clusterfuck that was his life). And of course Bobby got to bathe the one angel-kid who didn’t _freak the fuck out_ when it came time to washing their hair.

“If you would just _hold the fuck still_ you wouldn’t get the goddamn shampoo in your eyes!” Dean hissed, trying to work around some truly epic wing-flailing on Gabriel’s part. “Stop freaking and let me wash it out!” 

“SINISTER FIEND!” Really? It was the same damn thing every bath time.

After three days in a row, it just gets _old_ and Dean was getting _really_ sick of it. Sam was already holding the towel waiting for Balthazar to climb out. Apparently Balthazar is a lot less freaky-outy during bath time when you aren’t trying to scrub a thousand pounds of mashed potatoes out of his wings. 

“Do you want me to take over, Dean?” Sam offered while rubbing another towel gently over Balthazar’s wings and hair. “You could take Balthazar to get dressed.”

His shirt was soaked and his jeans were uncomfortably damp. Throwing his hands up in defeat, Dean rocked back on his heels and stood, “Fine. Friggen _fine_. C’mon squirt.” 

Balthazar fixed him with a disgruntled look for being scooped up so easily. But Dean ignored it. If you listed them best to worst, Balthazar was a close second to Cas, though he did have his moments – corrupted by Gabriel, as it were. 

By the time Dean was done helping Balthazar get dressed – which was a bit of an adventure of its own because they really hadn’t yet found a suitable solution for clothing – Gabriel was done his bath. Cas was already sitting on the couch, his coat draped over his lap and his big blues fixed unblinkingly on the previews playing across the screen. Apparently Bobby put in a movie. The empty rental case on top of the DVD-player said ‘Finding Nemo’ and Dean almost wanted to sit down and watch it with them.

Balthazar was just getting settled next to Cas when a half-dressed Gabriel came streaking into the room. Dean barely side-stepped out of the way before the pint-sized archangel launched himself into the empty spot on the couch, his wings fluttering valiantly in a mockery of flight. Thank whatever asshole God that might or might not be watching over them that the little rugrats couldn’t actually _fly_. Jesus Christ that would have been an absolute fucking nightmare.

“Gabriel!” Sam staggered into the room, looking a lot more wet then the last time Dean had seen him – hah, served the sasquatch right, “Would you at least put on some pants _before_ you run off?” 

“The movie started. Hope you weren’t actually expecting a response, Sammy.” Dean jerked a thumb at the TV and the opening reef scene. All three angels were fixed on the screen like it was some sort of holy doohickie that angels loved or something. God. Yeah. They were staring at it like it was God. Whoa, that might just be some _insane_ blasphemy right there. Then again, Dean could barely account for his actions half the time, let alone his thoughts. 

Oh, that was a truly spectacular bitchface Sam directed at him then before he stalked over to the couch. Dean, thoroughly amused because it was high time Gabriel caused shit for other people instead of just him, watched as Sam essentially manhandled the miniature archangel into his pants. The whole time, Gabriel never once took his eyes off of the TV, leaning around Sam when necessary until he was fully dressed.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who does the laundry?” Dean held out his hands, right fist sitting in his left palm. 

Sam arched an eyebrow and if Dean didn’t know better, that would be a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. Nope, not a smirk. That right there was a full blown Dean-you’re-being-an-idiot-and-it’s-playing-in-my-favour smile. It was one of Dean’s least favourite. Sam held out his hands, mirroring Dean. They bounced their fists in their palms, one-two-three. 

“Oh! Dean _always_ with the scissors!” Sam chuckled, slapping Dean on the shoulder, “Eventually you will learn. One day. In the far future. But one day. I’ll finish cleaning up the kitchen and get down to research with Bobby.”

Dean’s glare followed Sam into the kitchen. His unhappy return was cut off before it even got started by Bobby’s rough grunt from behind him, “Laundry basket is in the spare bedroom. Wash their damn nest while yer at it. And clean up the damn staircase. Y’left it a mess from earlier.”

“Yessir.” Dean grunted, slouching off to carry out his chores. 

_Chores_. Since when the hell did Dean Winchester do chores? He hadn’t done a single actual chore – except his own laundry when the occasion called for it – since leaving Lisa’s. Now he’s got kids. And kids call for chores, _constantly_. How is this even slightly fair? The kids were the ones making the messes and going through at least three different outfits a day because they just got so friggen _dirty_. Seriously, who the hell actually rolls around in dirt? Angels, apparently. 

Dean stopped at the couch on his way to the laundry machine and tapped Cas on the head, “Hey, you want me to wash your coat while I’m at it?”

Cas didn’t even have the decency to look up. He gave a mute little shake of his head and drew the trench coat up to his chest tightly, completely enraptured with Nemo’s capture by P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney. 

“Yeah, okay. But we’ll have to wash it at some point if you’re going to keep dragging it around.” 

He washed all the pieces of their nest first so they would be dry before the movie was over. While the first load was going, Dean cleaned the stairs. Not silently, not in the least. There was much grumbling and muttering and many dirty looks from Sam that were probably less-than-subtle ways of telling him to shut the hell up. Those were pointedly dismissed with a flip of the bird and even louder grumbling.

The second load of clothes was in the wash and Dean had just finished dumping the things that made up the angel nest back into the little nook they’d claimed as their own when the movie finally ended. Despite the pending bed time, Dean wasn’t very happy. He’d wanted to watch the movie too, dammit. But no, Bobby needed that box _reorganized_ to his ridiculous filing system before it was allowed to be put back into the teetering stacks of supernatural mumbo-jumbo junk that lined the upstairs hallway. 

“Alright you three,” Sam switched off the TV and waited for the kids to blink out of their Disney-stupor (a blessing Dean was ridiculously thankful they had discovered) before he scooped up Cas and Gabriel.

Balthazar actually full on pouted at being left out before Dean arrived to cart him off too. Balancing Balthazar in one arm, he reached out and snagged the multi-coloured sucker Gabriel had just materialized. Out of everyone who could have powers, why oh _why_ did it have to be the _trickster_? It was just another little ‘fuck you’ from God, in Dean’s increasingly unpopular opinions. Just like how witches – friggen witches – seemed like they were put on Earth to supremely fuck up Dean’s life in ridiculously inventive ways. 

Gabriel made a weak little grabby motion for the lollipop, but his eyes were drooping and his glare was seriously lacking when Dean chucked the candy in the garbage can on their way upstairs. 

“Be lucky you’re an angel and you don’t need to brush your teeth. You, little dude, would have some serious cavities with all the shit you eat.”

“Don’t forget the juvenile diabetes.” Sam chimed in, squatting to put the angels down. 

Cas frowned at the pile that had once been carefully arranged as their nest and immediately started pushing the clothes and blankets around. The other two angels helped the moment they realized it was all wrong too. Dean really did not appreciate the silent yet judgmental little glares Gabriel and Balthazar sent at him for daring to disturb their bed. 

“Well at least it doesn’t smell like four day old kid-stink.” Dean grumbled, sneering his _‘you’re friggen welcome’_ before stomping away. 

It was Sam’s turn for the bed in the spare room. Which meant it was another hard night on the sofa in the study for Dean. He was going to be one helluva grumpy bastard tomorrow if he woke up with a fucked up back. It’s not like he was getting any younger – hotter, maybe, but not younger. 

Dean punched the pillow into some form of lumpy submission before taking up a full couch flop. He hooked one ankle over the arm rest at the end, dangled the other leg over the edge, and folded one arm over his head with his other hand on his stomach. It might look a little ridiculous, but after years of crashing on this particular piece of furniture, Dean had long since discovered the best position to obtain a level of comfortable that induced sleep.

Of course it was only after a few minutes of letting his muscles relax and feeling the first few tugs of sleep that he even noticed that the goddamn window was open. And an open window meant a breeze. And a breeze meant goosebumps. Always, _always_ , when he was just getting comfortable. 

“No. Fuck you. I’m going to sleep.”

Dean Winchester: a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. 

Pointedly ignoring the soft caress of wind, Dean counted sheep until he nodded off to dreamland. A place that, if he was very lucky, wouldn’t include visions of Hell tonight. Because then he would a be a drunk grumpy asshole in the morning. Dean sure as shit wasn’t going to greet a day following a night of Hell nightmares without toasting the morning with a few tumblers of whiskey. 

Dean didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping when he startled awake. He wasn’t even sure exactly what woke him, but his hand immediately dipped between the cushions by his hip, palming the gun hidden there. It was probably not the safest of places to stash a loaded glock – but one had to make do in his line of work. Keeping one eye cracked open slightly, he continued to feign sleep and listened for what could have woken him. The creak of floorboards made him tense subtly, the muscles in his arm coiling in preparation to raise the gun. He relaxed the moment he heard the distinct rustle of feathers that heralded Cas coming around the corner, trailing the trench coat and rubbing his knuckles against his eyes. 

Really, Cas should be in bed. Dean could see the clock on the wall from where he lay, highlighted by the light left on over the stove in the kitchen. It was _long_ past angel bedtime. But Cas was just standing by the doorway, one hand still rubbing his eyes. Dean couldn’t really tell, not with the piss-poor lighting, but he could swear that Cas was looking at him and _frowning_. Seriously? Could he not even _sleep_ without Cas making unhappy faces at him? 

Fine. Whatever. Let the little fucker do what he wants. 

Dean shut his eyes and focused on trying to fall back to sleep without being stupidly angry. Or weirdly hurt. Cas was his friend and their sometimes rocky ‘relationship’ had been pretty cool – even with the stupid curse – up until they got to Bobby’s place. Then suddenly it was like Dean barely even _existed_ and dude, that hurt no matter how tough of a manly-man you were. 

Taking that hurt-feeling, Dean shoved it deep down into the same dark box he kept his not-jealous feelings. He slammed the lid shut on that and mentally sat on it for good measure. 

Thoughts like that were _not_ stepping stones on the road to sleep. They went in the exact friggen opposite direction. Dean realized he was grinding his teeth slightly and willed himself to stop. Gathering up all his mental processes, he focused them on counting sheep. Again. He was quickly starting to hate sheep. Oh, of course now was when the goddamn _shivers_ started up because up until then he hadn't even acknowledged that the night had cooled off considerably. 

Dean starting sorting the pros and cons of getting up to shut the window and finding a blanket and whether or not he should continue to ignore the pint-sized angel still standing on the other side of the room. He could hear the soft barely-there fluttering of wings and he wondered briefly whether or not the angels realized just how much those extra appendages moved or if it was just some kind of subconscious thing, like breathing. 

Then he heard the coat dragging. Cas was moving and by the sounds of it, he was moving closer. Dean fought the urge to open his eyes to check. He was still pointedly trying to ignore the angel in some fucked up form of payback. Not that it was working. Pretty much every single one of his senses that wasn’t sight were focused on Cas – even his skin felt all tingly and hyper-aware of the angel’s presence in the room. Though that could just be a side effect of him being an _angel_ and all, even all tiny and de-mojoed as he was. 

Dean risked cracking open one eye again at the sound of a small grunt. Cas was standing on his tiptoes at the end of the couch and tugging on the edge of the window. His wings fluttered in annoyance until he noticed the catch-release. Dean smothered a laugh as Cas fumbled with the button and tried to keep the window from slamming shut and – presumably – waking him. 

Cas knelt out of sight and popped back up with his coat again, holding it in both hands. Dean quickly flicked up the charade of sleep and tried not to react when the heavy weight of the trench coat settled over his chest and legs. He felt the couch cushions by his legs dip a little as Cas leaned against them, reaching over to smooth the ends of the coat so they settled better over Dean’s legs. 

“You should be in bed.” Dean murmured softly and the small hands stilled on his calf. 

Cas turned wide, surprised eyes up to him and quickly pulled his hands away when he realized he was being watched. Dean could barely keep the grin off his face when the angel’s feathers puffed up and his wings fluttered into an arch over his shoulders. It was pretty amusing to see Cas looking like he’d been caught with his fingers in the proverbial pie. Oh man, pie. He should totally get some pie when day time came around.

“I didn’t mean to wake you…” Cas whispered, looking at his hands guiltily.

Dean shrugged, bringing his arm down from above his head and reaching to pat the angel’s messy hair, “Hunter training, dude. The smallest sounds wake me. How come you’re up?”

“You were cold.”

“And you knew this from all the way upstairs? You holding out on us with the mojo there, Cas?”

He shook his head and Dean was almost certain Cas was avoiding looking at him again. That made his smile slip and he retracted the hand still resting on the top of the angel’s head. 

“I check on you most nights.” Cas said softly, eyes darting up at him again before looking away again.

He seemed nervous. His wings were twitching against his back and he shifted from side to side while fidgeting with the fringe of his trench coat where it lay on the couch. Cas kept tensing every time he glanced at Dean. Almost as if he thought– oh shit. Cas thought Dean was going to be _mad_ at him. 

“That why you’re avoiding me during the day?” Dean mentally cringed because that was so not what he wanted to say. And it even sounded kinda bitter. “Because you’re getting your ‘Dean Winchester’ fix at night?”

Cas’s small wings flared briefly and he shook his head so hard Dean was a little worried he might hurt himself. And then Cas started impersonating a fish. Well that’s what it kinda looked like – and it was actually a little amusing.

“C’mon Cas, it’s late.” Dean shifted, turning on his side slightly, “Just spit it out.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” The words came out in a jumble, a burst of sound that Dean had to mentally stop and sort out to make sense. “Not for the reasons you think, at least. You don’t like this situation we’re in and I know Balthazar and Gabriel can be trouble –”

“ _Understatement_.” Dean grunted under his breath.

“– and I didn’t want to give you more trouble by being in your way while you’re trying to deal with the both of them.” Cas ended with a gasp and then sucked in another big breath, holding it and watching Dean expectantly. 

Dean stared right back and he knew he must have some kind of weird look on his face because he felt weird too. Some little knot in his chest he hadn’t stop to realize was there had loosened and flooded him with more weird warmth. And completely against his will – because this situation was quickly veering dangerously close to _chick-flick_ territory and Dean was so not cool with that – he smiled. 

“You’re just trying to make things easier on me, huh?”

Cas let out his breath in a whoosh and sagged slightly. He responded to Dean’s smile with a tiny one of his own and nodded. Dean fought away the thoughts that popped up telling him that Cas was such a cute kid and how adorable he was and all that gushy girly crap that Dean didn’t think. He reached out again and ruffled the kid’s hair, a little desperate for a distraction. The annoyed glare he got in response was enough to draw a sleepy chuckle that ended in a yawn because seriously, it was pushing something like three in the morning. 

“Go back to sleep, Dean.” Cas said softly, tugging the collar of his coat over Dean’s shoulders.

A thought occurred mid secondary yawn – because he never could yawn just once. “You’ll wake Sammy by going back upstairs. He probably heard you coming down too.”

“It’s fine, Dean. I’ll be quiet.” Cas assured him, wings tucking in close to his back as he turned away.

“If you wake Gabe or Balthazar, I’ll be pissed.”

That made Cas hesitate and Dean reached out, catching the angel’s elbow, “Just c’mere, Cas.”

“Come where, Dean?” Cas turned to him again, head tilting in confusion. He even did that little frown-y face he does when Dean makes a pop culture reference he doesn’t get. It made Dean inexplicably happy to see it again, even if it was on the face of a kid. If he had to admit it, he kind of missed regular Cas.

Dean tugged on Cas’s elbow as he scooted further onto the couch and turned fully on his side, pressing his back into the sofa cushions. He raised the arm he wasn’t laying on, lifting the edge of the coat, “C’mere.”

Cas’s eyes went wide and his wings flared again. Dean was getting pretty good at wing-lingo and kind of enjoyed that it was really freaking easy – like ridiculously easy – to read their moods from them. Didn’t really help much in actually handling the little shits when they got devious, but it did help in certain situations. 

“You’re kinda letting the cold in here, Cas. Stop standing around and _c’mere_.” He sounded a little too stern and he saw the hesitation flicker across the angel’s face again, but Dean was grinning in a completely teasing fashion – a fashion he knew Cas was all too familiar with. 

It took a little maneuvering to fit Cas on the couch, even if he was a little squirt. Dean folded his arm under his pillow and Cas wiggled into the free space on the cushions with his bony kid knees pressed against Dean’s stomach. He dug his fingers into Dean’s t-shirt, grabbing handfuls of the thin fabric before tucking his head under Dean’s chin. His wings were kind of jittery, twitching and giving away his nervousness because yeah, okay, it’s not like Dean had ever offered to cuddle or sleep together before. But he seriously did not want to risk the off chance that the other angels woke up with Cas returning to their nest. 

That’s his reasoning and he’s sticking to it. 

“Calm the feathers and go to sleep, Cas.” 

The wings stilled immediately and Cas tensed. Dean slipped his arm over the smaller body, his hand splaying between the wings to keep Cas from maybe falling off the couch. There really wasn’t a whole lot of room. It took a few moments before the angel relaxed, and when he did, he really did _relax_. Cas nuzzled his nose against Dean’s clavicle and his whole body went loose and limp against Dean’s chest. 

“Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

The breaths puffing across the neck of his t-shirt evened out over the next few minutes and Dean smirked into the dark room, settling into the cushions under the warmth of Cas’s trench-coat. 

Yeah.

Dean wasn’t jealous.


End file.
